Dust
by BeatriceParadisio
Summary: Butch never had much of a chance for a good life, not with a drunk mother and the never-ending routine of the Vault. Someday he would get out, someday he would show them all that he was not just some loser nobody. Someday... fLW/Butch, angsty short story with plenty of good stuff in between.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is my only note of the story, except to say thank you to reviewers (which I hope you are one...). This story has language, graphic scenes, and probably enough angst to make it worthy of an M rating. I wrote it after replaying the game for the umpteenth time and got really annoyed with James acting like you were an idiot for leaving the vault. But kuddos to Bethesda for making their characters interesting enough to write about over and over again :)

Anyways, enjoy and please leave some reviews!

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**Chapter One**

Life wasn't fair.

It was nearly six o'clock on a Sunday. Most families would be sitting down to a nice meal provided by Vault 101 rations, talking, laughing, and doing the sort of shit that families were suppose to do. Butch, though, had never lived that life. He didn't get the happy hellos and warm hugs goodbye. He didn't get a _good goin' champ_ or even an _I'm happy you're home, honey_ on the best of days, and god knew those were few and far between. There were no friendly conversations over a nice hot dinner on what happened at school or what his friends were doing around the vault. Hell, there wasn't dinner half the time unless he was the one dumping a can of some sort of shit into a pan and heating it up. It was a far cry from what everyone else had, but what could he do when life decided to shit on him by letting him be born to a drunk, worthless mother?

Staring up at the ceiling of his tiny room, he ignored his mother's continued pounding on his door, her shouts that he was nothing but a worthless bastard melting into the hum of the vault's filtration system. It was the same shit he had heard all of his life. His mother, pissed for one reason or another, would look at him with glazed, resentful eyes. Her slurred curses would follow him from the small entry of their tiny apartment and echo into his room. When he was younger he would take out his switchblade and throw it at a piece of wood he hung near the door, the thuds at least breaking up the screams of _worthless, mistake, _and _idiot_ coming from the woman that had brought him into the world.

Now, he barely bothered to do anything when she was in one of her moods. He had so much practice drowning her out that it was no different than if he were tuning out an overplayed song on the rec' room's jukebox. He could stare at his ceiling in peace without a care in the world despite her shouts so long as his mind didn't wander to what his classmates and friends would be doing with their picture-perfect families and lives. That was the killer.

Slowly the pounding died down, his mother's voice fading into incoherent grumbles. He listened for a minute, waiting to hear the clink of empty bottles but nothing came. _She must be out, _he thought blandly as he sat up and threw on his leather jacket. He had learned years ago to take advantage of the beautifully frequent nights when his mother passed out from her drinking habit, leaving him free to wander the vault. Giving himself a quick glance in the mirror and slicking back his Tunnel Snake signature haircut, he carefully opened his door and moved past the snoring form of his mother on the couch.

Butch wandered the halls for a few hours, passing by only a few random people who barely looked at him let alone greeted him. It was always like that. Unless he was raisin' hell or causing trouble no one spared him a second look. He was just that drunk's bastard son, not worth anybody's time. It was just one more thing that had become routine, like which halls the patrols took at what times or when the adults would meet up for a drink in the lounge. Nobody seemed to do anything different once they got a set schedule. They all ate at the same times, socialized at the same times, probably even shitted at the same times if he had to guess. He was the only one it seemed like that didn't have enough bullshit to do or people to do it with to be routine. Even changing up what halls he slunked around in while his ma' was drunk didn't seem to livin' up his worthless existence in the vault.

_Someday Butch-man, someday you'll do somethin' and show 'em what you're worth,_ he told himself as he took a turn he hadn't been down in weeks. It led to one of the many abandoned sections of the massive bunker, marking it as off-limits except for security personnel. Not that it mattered. There were too far guards to walk every floor let alone care about a bunch of unused rooms. Life taught him that if he wanted solitude this was one of the many places to find it, which made it all the more surprising when he found himself pulled from his thoughts by uneven _ting_ echoing down the hall sporadically. He stopped for a moment, listening to the noise that seemed to make the unused passage come to life despite the signs marking it as abandoned and the late hour making it curfew for all but security personnel.

Slowly, he moved in the direction of the small metallic sounds which soon were mixed with the distinct noise of a gun chambering. It wasn't long before he found himself in front of a door that was open just enough to let a little light escape along with the strange noise. He gave it a small push, just enough to slip inside what appeared to be nothing more than a long, narrow storage room filled with crates that had been hastily pushed to the sides to allow for an open space where a girl stood holding a gun.

He recognized her instantly by the way her short gold and copper hair seemed to frizz in every direction but down. He spent the last seven years staring at that ratty mess of hair from his spot in the back of the classroom, but at school it was often bent over a notebook that Zoey seemed to always be writing in. He had never seen the doctor's daughter take anything resembling the strong and solid stance she took as she clicked her next round into the chamber.

Butch watched her curiously from behind his wall of crates as she let out her breath with a hiss and quickly discharged a shot, followed by another, and another in rapid motion. The sharp metallic _tings_ rang out in the small room as the tiny homemade metal targets shuttered. He watched for a few minutes before she stopped to reload. Deciding that this at least would be a nice distraction until he was forced to return home, he stepped out from his hiding spot and gave her a few loud claps.

"Nice shootin', poindexter. Never would have thought you could hit the broad side of a vault let alone a target."

Zoey turned to face him, her short hair sticking to the sweat on her face. He could see that she was in a pissy mood by the hard look in her blue eyes and the thin scowl that made her small features look more like an angry molerat than a fourteen-year-old girl. "How did you get down here?"

"Hm, I should ask you the same thing, lil' miss goody-two shoes. Shouldn't you be at home snuggling with your daddy? I'm surprised that he hasn't sent out a search party for ya yet."

Her scowl deepened, but she said nothing. That's how she normally dealt with him, ignoring his words and insults as if she couldn't hear him or even see him. It was infuriating and made him feel worse than when Amata cried to her father or Susie called him names right back. It was almost the same feeling he got when his mom had drank herself into such a stupor that she didn't even respond to him calling her name, making him wonder if she would even notice if he left and never came back. The feeling only got worse when Zoey turned away, raising her gun like he wasn't even there.

As the empty, gut-wrenching feeling of lonely worthlessness began to stir in him he felt his anger building. "Hey! Daddy's girl! I was talking to you."

She turned again, this time her eyes flashing an anger he had only ever seen in his own eyes when he locked himself in the bathroom after his mother got to the stage of her drunkenness where she liked to call him a mistake. "Don't you dare call me that," she hissed darkly, the gun in her hand rattling as her grip tightened.

"Call you what? A daddy's girl?"

"I said don't call me that!" she shouted, her voice echoing loudly in the narrow space.

Butch felt a smile pull at his lips as her reaction drove away the sense of isolation and insignificance that seemed to always pull at him. It was the first time since her birthday party when she had hit him in the nose for trying to take her sweetroll that she actually rose to his cries for attention and it made him feel a satisfaction he didn't know existed. Leaning back against some crates he let his face slide into his practiced mask of amused indifference. "That's what you are, so why shouldn't I call you that?"

"No, I'm not," she barely managed to grit out between her clenched teeth.

"Oh yeah? Then why do you go running home everyday after school to daddy? Why do you stay home every time our class has a party in the rec room? You're nothing but a little homebody, dorky daddy's girl that can't go anywhere without dear ol' dad holding your hand."

Zoey seemed to be biting something back as her lips remained locked over grinding teeth. He gave her a signature sly smile as he enjoyed watching her squirm. Finally, after what felt like hours, she finally opened her mouth. "Butch, my father hasn't left the damn clinic in nearly two weeks. I haven't seen him in nearly three. If you think I go home to be with my father you're a bigger idiot than I thought."

It was a small revelation that the good doctor wasn't sitting at home waiting for his only daughter to get there, but it wasn't like she was going home to a parent that was passed out on the couch in varying states of clothing and company. Hell, he would be happy if his mom actually left the house to go do something productive rather than just doing his classmates' fathers for their liquor rations.

Crossing his arms, he pushed further. "Oh boo hoo, daddy's had to work late and poor little baby had to be all alone and take care of herself. Cry my a river, sunshine."

"Cry you a river? Butch, I have been cooking my own meals, doing my own laundry, and taking care of myself since I've been tall enough to reach the counters. So instead of making assumptions about my life why don't you run home to your mommy? At least she'll be there."

Her tone had changed from angry to sad to envious in a matter of seconds, leaving Butch slightly confused at what exactly she was saying. At first he thought she was making some sort of crack on his mom being a drunk, but after catching the look in her eyes a ludicrous idea floated through his head. "Wait, are you _jealous_ of me?"

She let out a disbelieving huff, but didn't meet his eye. Standing up straighter he continued to stare at her. "You're actually jealous of me. Are you _insane_?"

"What do you know? You're nothing but a lazy idiot."

"You do know my ma is a drunk, right? That I go home to clean up her messes and be told I'm worthless?" he pressed, the complete ridiculousness of her jealousy cutting through his normal tough-guy act.

"At least she speaks to you," Zoey grumbled lifting her BB gun again. "If I get a _hello_ every few weeks I would count myself lucky."

"God, you have no idea how good you have it, do you?" he said with a disbelieving laugh. "I would take an absent parent over getting smacked in the face just for existing or having a bottle thrown at my head."

"Fine, Butch," she snapped as she began firing at a target again. "You win. Your life is worse. No one else can have a shitty life. You're the only one."

"Enough with the self-pity. My god, no wonder the only person that talks to you is Amata. And her daddy makes her be friends with everyone."

His words seemed to strike another nerve as she lowered her gun and stared at him. "Shut up."

"It's true!" he laughed, his hand going to his slicked back hair. "She's only friends with you because her dad makes her!"

"I said _shut up!"_

"God, that's the best thing I've heard all day. Little baby Zoey has no friends!"

Zoey's face twisted up into something dangerous and ugly as she lifted her gun and shoved its long barrel into his chest. "_Get out_," she hissed, nudging him back towards the door roughly. "I would rather be completely alone than have to spend another minute with you."

Butch threw his hands up and stepped away from the fuming girl. "Alright, alright! No need to get violent, sunshine. I was just kidding around."

"I said _get out!_" she shouted, raising her gun and shooting at the crate behind his head. "Go!"

He didn't need to be told again. Retreating from the space he could hear a few loud crashes followed by a rapid discharge of her BB gun. It wasn't until the noise had completely disappeared and he was nearing his own rooms that a small smile appeared on his face. Even if Zoey was being a bit overdramatic about her situation it was nice to know that he wasn't the only one that felt abandoned and alone in the dark tunnels they called home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was funny how in a vault full of people you could still be completely isolated. Perhaps funny wasn't the right word, ironic, maybe? Unbelievable? Zoey wasn't sure how someone else would describe her life, but she knew that isolated would be one of the main descriptors.

She had never had many friends. Amata during their younger years would play with her and talk to her at school, but as they got older it became clear that the Overseer's daughter, although friendly, was more interested in becoming friends with the popular girls, like Susie Mack. It almost felt like by the time they were sixteen that Amata's interest in her was nothing more than some need to be nice to everyone. Zoey couldn't help but resent her for it.

Still, after the GOAT results sent their class in different directions, she barely saw the girl or really any of her counterparts. While they went on to be engineers, supervisors, security, and whatever else, she was tasked with being the person to clean up the messes after everyone had already left. Empty halls and rooms became all that she saw most days, trash cans and a broom her only companions. Even when she got home her father, like he had most of her childhood, was rarely there. Work was more important than caring for her. He could call her _sweetheart_ and _honey _all he wanted, but one birthday party at ten and a few little endearments couldn't make up for a lifetime of playing second fiddle to whatever it was he and Jonas labored over for years. So rather than feeling love and respect towards her only parent she was filled with an angry bitterness that ate away at her day after day.

Sweeping the empty hall that led to a rarely used lounge area, she let her mind wander to all the attempts she had made to reach her father, to get him to show that she mattered in his life. They all ended in him giving her an indulgent smile, talking about her mother, and leaving just the same for his clinic. She had spent most nights eating alone and tucking herself into bed. Her father was merely a ghost in their apartment, appearing only in the late hours of the night and disappearing early in the morning, leaving her to wander the cold, lonely halls by herself. Even most birthdays, with the exception of her tenth, were spent in her silent apartment without even a card to mark the occasion. It was really no wonder that she had started to ignore her studies, instead focusing on breaking into her father's computer to see what was more important than she was. In the end, she thought he could only blame himself when her best skills were shooting a BB gun, hacking, and rigging things in their apartment to blow up in a desperate plea for attention. Still, he had looked at her with disappointment when she announced her future as a waste management specialist.

That had hurt the most. Not the disappointment, so much, but the fact that he didn't even care that she was a failure compared to him and her dead mother. He had just given her a small shake of his head and left without a word. No yelling, no lecture, just silence. She wasn't even worth his breath.

But, being actively angry at her father after years of resentment and rage was just exhausting. There was no satisfaction in blaming him anymore or even trying to get a rise out of him. She didn't even care enough to stop Jonas in the halls and check to see that he was still breathing. There was no point. She knew she would get the same line about being close to a breakthrough like she had been since she was six. She had long ago lost the hope that her father would choose her over his work, knowing it was nothing more than a stupid kid's dream that would never come true.

Sighing, she gathered up the dust and dumped into bin. At least her father had taught her how to manage being alone all the time. It came in handy as her job required her to work nights when the common rooms weren't being used, which meant there was very little interaction with anyone in the vault anymore. All she had was her daily list that popped up in her Pip-Boy that dictated when and where she should be with her best friends; a mop and a broom.

"Just the lounge and I'm done," Zoey muttered to herself as she checked off the hall and pulled her equipment into room at the end of it.

At first she didn't notice him in the dim lighting the vault used to conserve resources. With his dark hair and the worn leather jacket he seemed to never take off, Butch almost blended in with the dark corner of the room. If it hadn't been for his intense stare making her skin crawl she probably wouldn't have even looked up until it came time to mop that part of the room.

Meeting his gaze, she felt her mouth press together at the deep gash on his cheek and the dark smudge that was beginning to form under his eye. It wasn't an uncommon sight on Butch, but normally he acted like it was nothing and went on with taunting and picking fights. Tonight, though, there was something lurking behind his cold baby blues, something fragile that made her stop and stare.

"What are you looking at, nosebleed?" he snapped as if realizing that something akin to empathy was bubbling up in her. "Don't you have some garbage to pick up?"

She shrugged, but didn't drop her gaze as he continued to stare daggers at her. It had nearly been four years since he had called he anything but _daddy's girl_, using the ammunition she had stupidly given him that night he caught her shooting. The sudden change back to her childhood taunt made her all the more aware that something was not right with slick-haired hairdresser.

"Seriously, nosebleed, whatcha lookin' at? I know I'm good lookin' and all but that don't mean I want some poindexter, daddy's girl polluting my personal space."

He gave her one of his sneers, but the look didn't reach his eyes. It was as if he was just going through the motions for the sake of routine rather than actually wanting to get under her skin. So instead of answering or going back to her job, she kept looking at him, watching for some sign of what it was that was underneath his tough guy act. There had to be some reason he was putting on his smug, arrogant performance despite no one being around except for them. It wasn't like his reputation for being a dick would be tarnished if he just got up and left so she could do her job without interruption. Besides, she didn't anything better to anyways.

Butch let out a small, disbelieving laugh that sounded forced. "You just don't understand what get lost means, do ya? But you know what? I'm feelin' generous tonight. I'll give you what you want, sunshine, since you don't look like you'll be leavin' before I do. If you want a round with the Butch-man I'll show you what a real Tunnel Snake can do."

Zoey felt a smile pull on her lips as he made a crude gesture with his hips. He wanted her to leave and thought the best way to do that was to make her uncomfortable. It was too bad for him that this was the most interesting thing to happen to her in months, if not longer. He could taunt, threaten, and talk big all he wanted, but she knew he was bluffing and she wanted to prove it for no other reason than to break up the monotony of her day.

"I don't know how you'll show me anything from way over there," she finally said, breaking her silence.

She watched him as his smile fell for a fraction of a second before sliding back up on his face. He clearly hadn't expected her to say that, but other than the brief crack in his mask he didn't miss a beat. Butch sauntered towards her, stopping only once he was close enough that she could feel the heat coming from his skin. She felt her blood rush to her face as she realized she hadn't been this close to anyone for ages and by god she actually missed it.

"Is this what you want, lil' miss goody two-shoes?" he asked, putting his hands on her hips with a whapping dose of bravado.

Zoey felt something inside her twist with the contact, something raw and instinctive. It made her heart pound and her skin to grow hot and itchy as the feeling made her mind feel hazy. When was the last time someone had touched her? Graduation, maybe, when the Overseer shook her hand? She couldn't think of anything since then. Not a hug from her father, or even a brushed shoulder from someone passing by. It made the contact with Butch all the more electrifying as her body reacted more than she had thought was possible, making her want more. She barely even registered what she was doing as the rush of adrenaline pushed against her toes, making her body move up until her lips crashed into his.

Butch let out a surprised gasp, but didn't move as she moved her hands up the back of his jacket and she pushed her body against his. It was almost as if he needed a second to process what was happening before he finally responded by moving his lips against hers.

Zoey let out a small moan at the electric heat that rushed through her, her hands clinging to his shirt as he pushed her up against the opposite wall. She felt like she was drowning with the air rushing out of her chest all the while a surge of energy made her feel like she was never more alive. This only grew as he groaned and pushed against her, letting her feel his own excitement that mimicked hers. Just as she felt herself on the verge of a new level of feeling a loud crash filled space around them.

Butch pulled away from her, his eyes wide and face flushed where it wasn't black and blue. Both of their eyes fell on her broom that had fallen from where she had leaned against the cart. She silently cursed the damn broom as the cocky hairdresser sputtered some nonsense about curfew before pushing past her. Zoey watched him speed down the hall, her body screaming at her to call out to him while her mind was too numb at the sudden aloneness to do anything but stare.

She stayed like that for what seemed like days, her eyes staring at the empty hall while her body grew cold and rigid. It had been a damn mistake trying to see what made Butch tick. She should have just marked the room as clean and went home early. At least then she wouldn't feel the strange ache that clawed at her stomach and made her hands fidget anxiously. And no matter how isolated she felt, she was certain that never knowing what she was missing out on was better than having a taste of human passion only to be left alone and wanting.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been two months since Butch had left his room and wandered the halls during his free hours. Two months of confused, insecure thoughts that kept him bound to his own little vault routine of work and locking himself in his room. It wasn't like anyone really cared that he wasn't around for drinks after their shifts were done. Hell, not one of his so-called friends even sent him a message on his Pip-Boy asking him where he was. Not that he had expected it considering how distant the crew had been ever since taking the GOAT. No one seemed to care about the Tunnel Snakes or him now that they all had their vault duties.

But it wasn't the bitterness over false friendships that kept him from socializing. It was goddamned lil' miss goody-two shoes daddy's girl Zoey that made him nervous to be out and about. He had no idea what the hell had happened that night two months ago or what it meant, but he sure as hell didn't feel like figuring it out with a whole bunch of people standing about. What if she wanted something more from him, like a relationship or something? What if she didn't? Even if he wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with the frizzy-haired vault janitor, he sure as hell didn't want to be rejected by her.

Still, a man can only sit around in his room for so long before all of the tangled mess of insecurities that were jumbled in his head weren't nearly enough to keep him locked up there. He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous and edgy as hell as he strutted down the hall with the forced confidence he had used since he was a kid. It would also be a lie to say that he didn't half hope to run into lil' nosebleed sweeping some lonely hall. Maybe that was why he avoided the main passages and rooms, wandering instead down the ones he knew were empty around dinnertime.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the only thing he met after a few hours of walking was the echoing of his feet and the creaks and groans of the metal box they called home. It was probably a good thing that he didn't run into the doctor's daughter. He knew that if he saw her it would probably only be awkward and he had enough shit to deal with in his life without adding the embarrassment of a weird social encounter to the mix. He decided that he would just forget that bizarre night two months earlier and go on like he had been. He would cut hair, raise a little hell, and have a drink or two in celebration of not letting the shitty system or his shitty life get him down.

It was on that train of thought that he found himself walking to the rec' room. Even if it was long after when most people would hang out there, he would still be able to find some whisky or beer to relax with before calling it night. He only realized his mistake after taking two steps into the large space to be greeted by the back of a very familiar frizzy head.

He stopped, holding his breath as Zoey leaned over a table, wiping it slowly as if they were priceless treasures rather than ancient pieces of shit. She didn't seem to notice him, though, as she moved on to a next table, allowing him to watch her work without being disturbed.

Her body was lean, but she filled out her uniform a little more solidly than Amata or Susie. It was probably because of her job that she had more muscle than the other girls, he decided as she effortlessly lifted a table one handed in order to sweep under it. A few months ago he might have teased her for putting on some weight, but he had felt with his own two hands how little fat was on her hard body when she had thrown herself on him.

The observation sparked his mind to replay in vivid detail the events of that night while he continued to watch her. He had been really down over his mother's latest drunken episode, her insults and bitter ranting keeping his old wound raw and open. He had gone to that particular hall in hopes of escaping the friends that wouldn't meet his bruised eyes when they spoke to him, pretending like nothing was unusual about his appearance. Maybe that was a good thing, that people didn't comment on the various cuts and bruises he got at the hand of his mother when she had drank too much, but damn it would have felt nice if someone would occasionally acknowledge that his life was fucked up without staring at him with pity.

Still, that night he wanted the signs of his dysfunctional life to be private. He didn't need the few pitying glances from his friends or the knowing and judging looks from others. It had made the presence of the doctor's daughter all the more irritating, forcing him call out to her in the rudest way possible in hopes that she would leave. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that she would actually jump him like she did. Hell, he never even dreamed that quiet little Zoey would know what to do with a man, let alone be able to fill his head with dirty little thoughts about her.

It was a sickness that she gave him, a damn annoying disease that kept him laying awake at night thinking about the way she had grabbed at him, her lips pressing against his mouth while her body pressed against him. She had no right to be filling his head with thoughts and fantasies about her, but no matter how much he tried to think about the other, more attractive girls of their class he always came back to Zoey.

Now that she was only twenty feet away from him, her lean body bending over to empty a garbage can so that her ass pressed against her jumpsuit, he found himself feeling impatient and edgy. It was more than a little time alone or a cold shower would cure, making his next move as impulsive as most of his actions.

Taking a few quick steps forward, he grabbed her from behind, his teeth finding her ear. "Hello, sunshine."

Her body shivered under his as he tightened his grip around her and bit at her ear. Moving, he pushed her against the counter of the little diner, letting her feel the affect she had on him by rubbing his groin against her tight ass.

"Butch?"

His name was said in a high, breathless tone that made his stomach tighten and his blood surge down from his chest. She wiggled her body to turn towards him, her movements making him groan. Wrapping his hand around her hair, he guided her head towards him and moved his mouth to hers.

A small gasp pushed into his mouth as his tongue claimed hers and his hands lifted her up so that he could push his hips against her in a way that was anything but appropriate by vault standards. Yet Zoey didn't seem to care that they weren't married or, at the very least, someplace private as he ground against her. In fact, her breathing seemed to grow more irregular as her legs wrapped around him and her hips rocked so that the hard lump tethered down by his pants rubbed in just the right spot.

Yanking her hair back, he exposed her neck and began to suck and nip at the delicate skin. Her hands dug into his suit, while her legs tightened around his waist making him feel that electricity that meant only one thing.

"Shit, Zoey," he sputtered as he felt his release pulse against the unforgiving cloth of his pants. She stopped her movements, but kept her legs firmly around him as he dropped his forehead against her chest.

They sat there for a moment, neither breaking contact but also not daring to put words or actions into what just happened. Butch felt at once relieved and embarrassed about his performance. The intense edginess that had been pulling at his muscles and itching at his skin was gone after his release, but the spot on his pants was a pathetic display to his own stamina.

Glancing up at Zoey, he met her eye for barely a second before pulling away. He didn't even spare her a glance as he heard her hop down from the counter and pick up her broom, his mind too focused on walking away.


End file.
